


Possible (22/39?)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [22]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:36:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys night out</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (22/39?)

As it turned out, Ian had another low day on Monday and wasn't going anywhere, to Mickey's mixed relief and, despite everything, slight disappointment. Neither of them said anything about the club until a couple of days later when Ian announced that he wanted to go out, as Mickey was getting ready for his shift at the Alibi.

"So hang out with me, have a drink at the bar," Mickey offered.

"Maybe. What time to do you get off?"

"Depends. What time do you go down?" Mickey smirked.

Ian tossed a pillow toward him half-heartedly. "When do you finish at work?"

"Whenever I want. Why?"

"I meet you there, you go with me to the Jackhammer?"

Of course Mickey had seen that coming. He made a couple of weak protests and then agreed. Not like Ian was going to give up on it, he figured.

He liked having Ian at the Alibi where he could keep an eye on him, and his company helped pass the time. Mickey was getting a little bored of sniping with Kev and the regulars for entertainment. Kev seemed happy to see Ian too, and put down glasses of beer for him without being asked. 

All in all it would have been a pleasant evening if Mickey didn't have what was coming later on his mind. Officially he still found Ian's suggestion ridiculous, but at the same time he'd heard enough about the Jackhammer to be curious about the crowd. And to be completely honest, there was something vaguely exciting at the idea of checking out a shitload of available guys with an invitation to choose one to get it on with. Like going to the candy store with money in your pocket, he thought. Then he reminded himself that the whole concept was cracked. 

They took the El up to the club, Mickey handing Ian cash for the fare, then jumping over the turnstile behind him. 

"Such a gentleman," Ian murmured.

"That make you a lady?"

"Lady that'll take you on anytime."

"Take me on where?"

They elbowed and kicked each other good-naturedly while they waited for the train. Mickey had dressed in dark jeans and a dark button down, and taken a little extra time on his hair. Ian had showered and shaved, washed his hair and found some clean clothes at the bottom of the stack Mickey had brought over to hm. He'd even added a little eyeliner and glitter, though not as much as he used to wear when he was working. Mickey had a hard time not sneaking looks at him on the train. 

As they walked up the street toward the club, Mickey grew a little quieter, but he could feel Ian's contained excitement growing. 

"You got ID?" Mickey mumbled to Ian as he caught sight of the burly bouncers up ahead.

"Course."

Even with the fake ID, it needed a little fast talking to get Ian in; Mickey had to throw in a few of the bigger names he knew through Terry to convince the bouncer that picking a fight with them wouldn't be in his best long-term interest.

That encounter got Mickey's adrenaline running so as they walked inside he could feel his energy bouncing a little off Ian's. As a rule, Mickey wasn't afraid of new places and he'd been to the club where Ian worked enough times to know what to expect. The loud music, the dark that took a minute to get used to, the hordes of men, the flashing lights -- all of those he was used to. 

But something about this place felt a little different. Less glitter, less sparkle; more leather, more beards. Instead of podiums with dancing go-go boys there was a huge screen over the bar that was filled with an extreme close-up of dick when Mickey glanced up at it.

Mickey elbowed Ian and nodded at the screen. "I think I have that flick at home," he yelled into Ian's ear.

Ian laughed and nodded, heading toward the back bar with complete aplomb. Mickey let him take the lead, since he'd obviously been here before. As Ian ordered drinks, the bartender called him _sugar_ and squeezed his hand in greeting, then caught Mickey's scowl and gave him a friendly, unfazed wink.

"Heading downstairs tonight?" the bartender asked. 

He directed the question toward both of them but Mickey had no idea what he was talking about.

"Maybe later," Ian said with a grin. He put his hand on Mickey's elbow and steered him away from the bar. 

Within a couple of minutes they were milling around with the general crowd, Ian surprisingly gregarious and the other patrons sociable and flirtatious without obviously leering. Maybe the crowd was more mixed here; Mickey didn't have the sense of being sized up by predatory older men the way he did at other clubs. He could see men checking Ian out -- and felt eyes on himself as well -- but somehow it didn't seem quite so intrusive. 

At first Ian kept a hand on Mickey's arm, which was reassuring -- not because Mickey was uncomfortable but because it signalled that neither of them were available -- but eventually they drifted apart, engaged in separate discussions. The men here didn't open conversations by asking what you did for a living; they talked about sports or bands or porn stars, and Mickey had no trouble adding his own opinions to the mix.

After a few minutes Ian sidled up beside him and bumped his hip. "Check out the one in the plaid shirt," he hissed into Mickey's ear. "He's hot."

Mickey followed his gaze and shrugged noncommittally, though he already knew exactly who Ian meant. The guy leaning against a nearby wall was well-built and muscular without being a complete bear, and he wore jeans that Mickey couldn't help noticing showed off a decent bulge in front. He'd caught Mickey's eye a couple of times and once given him a half-raised eyebrow, but hadn't made any move to approach.

" _Totally_ checking you out," Ian breathed. "What do you think?"

"Fuck off," Mickey said, turning toward the bar. "I need another shot of that over-priced watered-down pisswater they call beer."

But Ian was tugging him in the other direction. "Hey, man!" he yelled at the plaid-shirted stranger. "My buddy wants to dance with you."

Mickey yanked his arm out of Ian's grip. "Fuck _you_ , Gallagher! The fuck you doing!"

His resistance didn't bother Ian a bit, and the stranger gave a good-natured grin as Ian went up to him. Mickey scowled and headed over to the bar for another beer, cursing Ian inwardly. By the time he got back, Ian and the stranger were chatting like old friends and Mickey decided it was best to join them so he could at least hear what Ian was telling him.

Ian reached out as he came up, putting his arm around Mickey's waist. "Hey, here's Mickey. This is Sam. He's taking carpentry at Malcolm X."

"Hey man." Sam put out his hand. "Good to meet you."

There didn't seem to be much choice so Mickey made his usual fleeting gesture, but the man grabbed his hand as he did, pulling him in for a surprisingly strong one-handed hug. With his head on Mickey's shoulder, voice low in Mickey's ear, he said, "I was hopin' you'd come over."

Mickey pulled away, half-frowning, but Sam didn't seem to mind. He and Ian carried on their conversation, which appeared to be about brands of woodworking tools, both of them turning occasionally to Mickey to include him. By the time his glass was empty, Mickey had decided this wasn't such a terrible turn of events.

Then Sam abruptly put down his drink, and reached for a backpack beside his feet. "Well," he said, digging inside, "Time to head downstairs. You comin', guys?" 

"Not yet," Ian answered for both of them.

Mickey watched, bemused, as Sam pulled on a brown leather vest and then added a pair of chaps over top of his jeans. He picked up his drink, gave Ian a bump on the shoulder, winked pointedly at Mickey, and sauntered off to a door at the back of the room.

Ian moved up to Mickey. "He seems nice," he said innocently.

Mickey turned back, and shoved Ian hard against the wall. "The fuck you think you're doing, asshole?"

"What're you talking about?" Ian put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm just making new friends."

"Told you I'm not interested," Mickey said, letting go.

"No one's twisting your arm." Ian grinned and leaned down to Mickey's ear again. "But I saw you watch him walk away. He does have a sweet ass." 

It must have been the beer talking, watered down as it was; Mickey heard himself saying, "Sweet package, ya mean."

Ian laughed out loud and kissed Mickey briefly, then moved toward the front of the room. "I'm gonna go dance for a while ... you have fun!"


End file.
